


Don't Cry, Dear Angel

by Ordered_Chaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blades, BAMF Castiel, Canon Compliant, Castiel's POV, Danger, Doctor Who References, Don't Blink, Family, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Gen, Hurt Castiel, One Shot, Superwho, Team Free Will, Weeping Angels - Freeform, Worried Dean Winchester, but still third person, but you don't have to know Doctor Who, it's explained, quasi-crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordered_Chaos/pseuds/Ordered_Chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Castiel was searching for God, something else found him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Cry, Dear Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in season 5, between episodes 5 and 6.

Castiel had been flying, but now he—wasn’t. He stood in a rundown house, the wallpaper peeling, floor coated in dust. There was no sign of another being, or sigil, or (he checked the floor at his feet) a circle of holy oil. He was alone, in an abandoned house, with no reason for landing there.

It made his nerves clench. He spread his wings behind him, and teleported away.

Except he didn’t move.

Castiel frowned, trying again. Nothing. His wings flapped, stirring the thick dust into a frenzy, but he was stuck.

He pulled out his cell phone and hit the button that would call Dean.

_“Hey, where are you, man? What’s taking so long?”_

“I'm sorry, Dean. I have been delayed.”

Something in his voice must have caught the hunter’s attention, because Dean asked, _“Are you okay? What happened?”_

“I’m fine,” he assured him, eyeing the empty rooms around him. “I was on my way to you, but something happened. I am in a strange house. I don’t know why, and I can’t fly away.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, hoping whatever was blocking his powers hadn’t also blocked the phone.

There was a rustle of static, and then Dean said, _“I’m here, Cas. You’re on speaker.”_

_“Hey, Cas,”_ Sam said, somewhat distantly. _“What happened?”_

Castiel was starting to feel like he didn’t have time to explain. His vessel’s heart was racing, and he felt intense uneasiness growing in his stomach. He put his back to the peeling wall, letting his angel blade drop into his hand as he edged toward the next room. Moving would keep him focused, keep him steady, and the weight of the blade was comforting in his hand.

“Something has grabbed hold of me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t know what, or why. They have not shown themselves.”

_“Alright, stay where you are,”_ Dean told him. _“We’re going to track your phone.”_

“I don’t think I have time for that, Dean,” Castiel told him. It felt like the house itself was watching him.

_“Can you at least get to your angel blade?”_ Sam asked, sounding worried.

Castiel nodded and said softly, “Yes, I have it.” He entered the next room, which turned out to be a hallway with a boarded-up door at the far end, and another door that looked like it led to a basement. The house felt alive around him, _flowing_ with power. He had not sensed ambient magic this strong since the height of the Pagan gods. It made him shiver, and wonder who had decided to snare an angel, and why.

_“Cas.”_ Dean’s voice crackled in the tingling silence. _“This can’t be right. Are you in England?”_

“It’s possible,” he said. “I was in Russia when you called me. I must have been knocked off-course on my way to South Dakota.”

_“So something dragged you to England and is keeping you there?”_ Sam asked. _“That’s serious mojo.”_

_“Dammit,”_ Dean muttered.

But Castiel couldn’t. He jerked back as, with the deafening crunch of splintering wood, the door to the basement fell forward, its hinges torn as though in the jaws of a hellhound. It smashed against the floor.

_“Cas? Cas! What was that?”_

Castiel stared at the empty black hole, blade arm tense. The door had not fallen on its own.

Nothing appeared. The dust simply settled around the fallen wood. The basement seemed to call to him.

“Something wants me to go downstairs,” he told his friends calmly as he moved forward.

_“Don’t go!”_ Sam said earnestly. _“You’re not gonna go, right?”_

He peered down the staircase. Answers waited for him at the bottom, though it was surely a trap.

_“Cas, take it from me and Sam,”_ Dean said. _“If something_ wants _you to go downstairs, don’t do it.”_

“I’m going, Dean,” he said, then added, “I might lose service.”

_“Dammit,”_ Dean muttered.

As Castiel put his foot on the top stair, a new voice joined the other end of the call.

_“What’s the hubbub?”_ Bobby grunted. The stairs creaked beneath Castiel’s feet. He wished he could fly down.

_“Cas is in trouble,”_ Sam answered. _“Do you know a spell that can summon him here?”_

_“’Course,”_ Bobby answered. _“Why can’t he fly?”_ Halfway down the stairs now, he could see the basement open up beneath him. Strangely, it was lit up, four light bulbs naked in the ceiling.

_“Not sure. But wherever he is, we need to get him out of there.”_

There came the sounds of footsteps, and grumbling, and then Dean said, _“Cas, just…. Be careful.”_

He stopped at the foot of the stairs. The basement was damp, full of mold and the smell of rotting plants. No one was down here, just four ivy-covered statues standing in a circle, their arms raised. He could sense no trace of anyone, human or otherwise.

“There’s no one here,” he informed his friends, his voice full of disappointment.

_“What did you find?”_ Dean asked.

“Statues,” Castiel told them, moving further into the room.

They were terrible and sad. Their hands were frozen, uplifted as if dancing, and their wings were battered and cracked with age. But he could tell they had been made in the image of his family.

_“Statues?”_ Sam asked, as Bobby muttered, _“What the hell?”_

“Angel statues,” Castiel clarified. He felt his heart twist; the power in the house curled around him.

_“Angel statues?”_ Sam repeated, and Castiel didn’t feel like he needed to answer.

He stepped up to the nearest, staring at the high curve of its wing. They were nothing like his wings, battle-ready and scorched by hellfire. Wanting to see its face, he reached out, about to brush aside the old ivy that obscured its eyes.

_“Cas, don’t go near them!”_ Sam barked urgently.

His tone startled Castiel. He trusted Sam’s instincts, so he backpedaled away from the statues before he registered moving. He stared hard at the statues.

Just a moment before, they had all been standing facing each other, their hands raised high. But now their heads pointed directly toward him, faces covered in ivy. A cold snap of fear gripped his vessel.

“What is this?” he growled, as much to the statues as to the Winchesters. He backed toward the stairs.

_“What is it? What happened?”_ Dean demanded. There were rhythmic _thuds_ punctuating his words; he was pacing.

_“Calm, down, boy,”_ Bobby muttered.

His back hit the wall at the base of the staircase. The angels’ empty faces were locked on Castiel. He gripped the phone and his angel blade tighter.

“They moved,” he told his friends, his voice much calmer than he expected it to be. His brothers and sisters would have heard his fear; it was much harder to hide distress in his true voice. “When I wasn’t looking…. Now they’re watching me.”

_“What the hell?”_ Dean asked again, but Sam’s voice was low and urgent.

_“Cas, you need to get out of there, now. But don’t look away from them!”_

It was too late. Castiel had glanced up the stairs. At Sam’s warning his head snapped back, and found all four angels crowded in front of him, the ivy gone from their wide eyes, mouths gaping, hands outstretched. Reaching for him. The air around them sang with power.

He jerked backward so fast his calves slammed into the bottom steps, the thud reverberating in his ears. His breath shuddered, and he could hear the Winchesters shouting for him.

_“Cas! Come on, man, what’s happening? Tell me you’re okay!”_

_“Please, Cas, say something!”_

_“Dammit!”_

Castiel cleared his throat, eyes pinned to the four angel statues.

“I’m okay,” he said, and heard them sigh in relief. “They are quite fast.”

Sam gave a weak huff of laughter. _“I know. Don’t take your eyes off them.”_

_“What are these things, Sam?”_ Dean asked. His voice was worried. Castiel wanted to reassure him, but he wasn’t sure if the faint sound he could hear was static, or another statue coming to the top of the stairs. He fought the urge to look.

“Dean,” he said nervously, but Dean and Sam were talking.

_“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’re dealing with Weeping Angels.”_

_“Weeping Angels? You mean_ Doctor Who _Weeping Angels?”_ A pause. _“Those are_ fiction _, Sam! TV!”_

_“You don’t have to tell me! But the behavior fits, the speed, the statues. Even the place. The basement of an old house? That’s straight from the show!”_

_“How the hell?”_ Bobby asked.

_“Well, fine. How does he kill them?”_ Dean grit out, the _thumps_ of his pacing slowing.

Sam’s voice sounded helpless when he answered. _“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. They’re stone when you’re looking at them, so nothing can hurt them. But if you don’t look, they unfreeze and get you. They’re too fast to kill that way.”_

_“Awesome,”_ Dean answered, but Castiel didn’t think this was awesome at all.

“Dean,” he said again, and this time Dean heard him.

_“What is it?”_

“I think I hear another. Something is upstairs.”

_“Cas, you can’t_ _look away from them,”_ Sam said. _“They_ will _get you. They drag you back in time and leave you there.”_

“If I don’t look, this one will get me.” He felt angry. Something had trapped him here, without reason or warning. He hated that he had to fight alone.

_“Cas, don’t!”_ Dean said, panicking. _“Just hold on a sec!”_

“If I am going to be killed, I want to see the one who does it,” Castiel snapped, the intensity in his voice buzzing through the phone.

Something was definitely creaking above him. Gentle _thumps_ just like Dean’s footsteps, except slow, deliberate. The unseen approaching his unprotected back. He clenched his fist tighter.

The angels in front of him seemed to lean forward, waiting, just _waiting_ for him to turn his back. For him to give them the opportunity. He glared into their vacant eyes.

“I will not die without seeing the face of my killer,” he declared.

_“Cas, no!”_ Dean shouted, and his voice broke. Castiel hesitated. _“Please, Cas.”_

“Dean—” he said gently.

_“Don’t ‘Dean,’ me,”_ the hunter yelled, making the phone crackle with static. _“Don’t you dare look away from them, Cas. You hear me? We’ve almost got the summoning. So hang tight.”_

The footsteps were very close now. He could hear boards creaking beneath them, the same boards that had protested under his vessel’s weight only minutes ago.

“Dean, I have to look—”

_“Do you trust me?”_

“I—”

A clear _snap_ echoed from the top of the stairs. The world around Castiel froze, turning black and white. Even the dust particles drifting in the fluorescent light hung motionless. He frowned, and turned around. His phone was silent.

A man stood at the top of the stairs. He wore a green jacket, and his eyes were crinkled in laughter. He was the only thing that retained its color. Castiel squinted up at him, trying to see past the shadow over his face. There was something missing about him.

“Hi there,” the man said, clapping his hands, and Castiel realized what was wrong. His body was empty, a shell. He was an illusion.

“I thought you’d be taller,” the man said, skipping down the stairs and stopping a few steps above Castiel, who glared at him and gripped his blade tighter, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“Oh, come on,” the man whined. “Don’t be like that.”

“What are your intentions?” Castiel demanded of him. He quite disliked being toyed with.

The man snapped, and a candy bar appeared in his hand. He broke off a chunk and offered it to Castiel, who didn’t move.

“Peace offering?” the man asked, his golden eyes wide and hopeful.

Castiel stabbed him in the stomach.

The blade went through as if the man were made of water. There was resistance, but not the scrape of bones and snap of muscle that he should have felt through the blade. It came to a stop, and the man looked down at it, sighing. Castiel twisted his hand.

The man snapped his fingers, and abruptly Castiel was standing two feet further away from him. Strong arms held his behind his back; two of the angel statues had grabbed him. He still had his blade, but it was useless, trapped between him and their stone bodies.

“I’d hoped you’d be less…angelic,” the man drawled, lounging on the steps and taking a large bite of chocolate. “I’ve met some of those dicks before. No sense of humor.”

Castiel tried tugging free, but the statues were unmoving and unbreakable. “What do you want with me?” he asked, his gaze flickering from the man’s relaxed posture to his calculating eyes. Something was still amiss.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted to ask for your help?” the man asked, a mischievous smirk twisting his face.

“No,” Castiel said.

“Well that’s unfair,” the man said. “You’d be a killer ally. Pun intended.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “If you wanted to be allies, you should not have attacked me.”

The man looked shocked. “Attacked? Kiddo, this is me saying ‘hi.’ If I was attacking you, trust me, there’d be a lot less _Doctor Who_ and a lot more _Blair Witch_.”

Castiel made a mental note to ask Dean who the Blair Witch was, and whether they were going to hunt her.

“Trust me, I could’ve gone way more native.” The man sat forward, spreading his hands and waggling his eyebrows.

“I still don’t believe you want to be allies,” Castiel said, pointedly tugging at the angels’ grip again.

“Ah, no can do, kiddo,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “You did stab me.”

“We both know that is not your true form.”

There was a small pause as the man appraised him. “Yeah, I suppose you would know that,” he said slowly.

He jumped to his feet abruptly, making Castiel jerk back against the statues. But the man only laughed.

“Here’s the deal. You’re an angel, I’m a Trickster. My power is different than yours. We can help each other out.”

He stopped, waiting for Castiel’s reaction, but Castiel stayed quiet. The man would get to his point eventually.

With a sigh, he continued. “Fine. Subtlety is lost on God’s Finest, isn’t it?” He threw his hands up in frustration. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

“I hear you’re on a quest to find the Big Man,” he said, looking into Castiel’s face, his golden eyes suddenly serious. “And that you’ve got something that can find him.”

“How did you hear that?” Castiel asked.

“Doesn’t matter. But if your Daddy can save the world, I’m all for finding him. I know I don’t want to clash with your Devil.” He gave a theatrical shudder, reclaiming his swagger. “Did he really want to bring all candy to Hell with him?”

“So what do you want?” Castiel asked again.

“No decent person can want to deny the world candy,” the man said fervently, taking another bite of his chocolate bar for emphasis. With his mouth full, he continued, “I _want_ to know how close you are to finding him.”

That was not what Castiel had expected him to ask. Demanding the amulet, or to accompany him on his search, had seemed more likely.

“Finding God is not easy,” he said coolly. “Physically or metaphorically.”

The Trickster scuffed his foot on the step. “I know, I know. But come on.” He hopped to the basement floor, and Castiel saw that his projection was shorter than Castiel’s vessel. He still couldn’t break free. “Gimme a little hint. Between friends.” He smiled the same smile Dean used to charm witnesses for a case. It made Castiel narrow his eyes and lift his head higher.

“My search for God has nothing to do with you,” he said. “Let me go.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” drawled the Trickster. “You don’t—”

“I am not your plaything,” Castiel interrupted him. “Release me.”

“You’ll never find him on your own—”

Castiel lowered his head, tensing against the stone arms holding him and glaring at the Trickster. “You don’t want to help me or find God. You want Divine protection, which I will not provide you,” he snapped. “Cowards drown in lakes of Hellfire.”

The man’s face hardened for an instant. Castiel didn’t see much more than a brief flash of anger, but it was enough to tell him the Trickster wouldn’t be joking around anymore. He remembered that this thing had control here.

“Alright, fine,” the man said, backing toward the stairs while keeping his eyes on Castiel. “Hunt on your own. That’s fine with me. Would’ve gone quicker, with my help, but hey, your choice.” He kept moving backward, gesturing widely with both hands. “Never met one of you who wasn’t a dick. Whatever.” He reached the top of the stairs, turning his body away. “Good luck and all that.”

With a snap, he disappeared.

The world burst back into full color, dazzling Castiel.

The hands on his arms tightened, and he realized.

No one was watching the statues.

He was yanked backwards, his feet leaving the floor as an immense _presence_ descended around him. It was suffocating, like kneeling at the feet of an archangel. It made his vessel curl inward, his eyes closing, his focus fraying beneath the terrible pressure that seemed to be trying to crush him into a point of nothingness. He cried out, but the sound was ripped away before he heard it.

Castiel became aware of a thick, tumultuous energy roiling around him. In it, he could taste the swirling essence of time itself, boiling, twisting around him. At the same time, he felt like the angels were trying to drag him backward, but not physically. They wanted to bring him back in time.

He wrenched himself forward in their no-longer-stone arms, trying to pull away, rebelling against their hold. If they took him back in time, he would not have the strength to return. Not for a long time. Castiel unfurled his remaining Grace around him, clinging to this moment, to the creaky, moldering stairs, to the strands of ivy growing in the damp, to the dust particles floating in the air in the dank basement. He would not be torn away from this. He would fight them all.

The angels whispered to him, their slithering promises soft in his head. _Let go,_ they urged. It felt like his mind was full of thorns, of angry dogs, snapping and biting inside his head. But Castiel stopped his thoughts around them, shook his head, held on to the presence of his friends, so far away, to Dean, reaching for him.

Something else clawed in his Grace, wrapping around him. Flaming hot and trying to drag him in the other direction, and Castiel yelled again. Too many. Too much. He was breaking apart, weakening, exploding outward, but collapsing. It felt like he was dying all over again, his wings crumpled against his vessel’s back, twitching, molting.

The ground disappeared from beneath his feet and he was suspended in nothingness, back arched, eyes open and staring at darkness. _No, it could not happen!_ He would not be torn away. He needed to be here.

Castiel’s feet slammed into solid ground and he buckled, crashing against the floor as though he had fallen from Heaven. Surprised voices shouted close by, but he couldn’t understand them. A rushing sound had filled his ears. He lay still on his side, eyes clenched shut, feeling as though every ounce of blood in his vessel’s body had filled his head to bursting.

“Cas! Cas?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Heavy footsteps. A rough hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know. Cas?”

He groaned in answer, trying to find his eyes. They didn’t seem to want to open.

“I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Me neither.” Dean’s voice. How was Dean here?

“Cas?”

“What could do this to an angel?”

His eyes still wouldn’t open. He was too tired. Who was watching the angel statues?

“What could have grabbed him in the first place?” Dean replied.

“Fair point.”

Castiel’s eyes jerked wide. They burned and he squinted them half closed, but he could see Dean kneeling beside him, Sam and Bobby hovering further away. They were in Bobby’s living room.

He tried to find his voice, but when he did, it was barely a croak. “Hello, Dean.”

He smiled. “There you are. What happened? Are you alright?”

Castiel tried to sit up, but his head was spinning and his body was too heavy to move. “I don’t understand. How am I here?”

“We summoned you,” Sam explained, gesturing toward a smoking bowl on Bobby’s desk. “I’m glad it worked.”

Dean tried to pull him up, but Castiel’s legs wouldn’t support him, and he ended up sitting with his back against the couch.

“Cas?” Dean asked, worried.

“Did the angels touch you?” Sam asked.

Castiel tried to pull himself together. It felt like he was filled with sand, heavy and slow. He longed to rest, without having to fight or guard. He managed a nod to Sam’s question.

“Crap,” Sam muttered.

“Maybe he should lie down,” Bobby suggested. “Sam, get him some water.”

Footsteps vibrated the floorboards beneath him as Sam hurried away. Dean’s hands were on his shoulders, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he was leaning into them for comfort or because he couldn’t hold himself up on his own. He had never felt so drained.

“Here you go, Cas.”

A hand was pushing something cold and hard into his hand. He blinked slowly, closing his fingers around it, but it was too heavy to lift. It was a strange feeling, to be too weak to lift something.

“Here, let me,” Dean said, and then the hardness was gone, but his fingers were still cold. He sighed as the rim of the cup pressed against his bottom lip.

“Come on, Cas. Drink,” Dean said.

Castiel lifted his eyes, meeting Dean’s briefly, and tipped his head back. Dean guided the cup upward so that the cold water trickled gently into Castiel’s mouth. He managed a few swallows before he pulled away, his whole weight slumping back against Bobby’s couch. Dean set the cup aside.

“Come on, let’s get you off the floor,” he said.

Dean and Sam each took one of Castiel’s arms and pulled him up. He swayed, leaning against them, but he didn’t want to move. He liked Bobby’s living room.

“We’ll take him upstairs?” Sam asked.

Castiel sat back, forcing the Winchesters to guide him onto the couch, or else drop him to the floor. Sam grunted in surprise, but Castiel was quite comfortable here.

“Think he’s got other ideas,” Bobby replied, his voice retreating. “Just get him a blanket or something.”

Dean’s hands eased him onto his side, leaning him against the cushions. He felt warm and safe. A blanket swooped down around him, and he gave in to his Grace-deep weariness.

When he woke up, there was aging sunlight streaming in through the ratty curtains above him. He still felt heavy and slow, but he could open his eyes all the way, and the fog around his senses had lifted.

“Hey, look who’s back.”

Dean was sitting in an armchair, grinning. He had a magazine spread on his knees and a beer in his hand.

“Hello, Dean,” he answered. “Thank you for accommodating me despite my weakened state.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. “Mi casa, su casa.”

Castiel tilted his head. The sentiment was very nice, but he didn’t understand why Dean had decided to give it in broken Spanish.

“Although, I suppose this is Bobby’s casa….” Dean shrugged. “What were we gonna do, throw you out the door?” He scoffed, but it made Castiel feel slightly less like an intruder.

“Thank you,” he said, and Dean shrugged again.

“So what happened?” he asked.

Castiel recounted the events that had occurred in the old house. Sam came to stand in the doorway as he spoke, nodding with a puzzled look on his face.

“So the Trickster’s back,” Dean said. “That explains the semi-reality. Hate that guy. He’s such a rip-off.”

Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t wanting to find God sound a little too…monotheistic, you know, for a Pagan god?” he asked.

“You think he had another motive?” Dean mused.

“I’m not convinced it was a Trickster,” Castiel interrupted, drawing their gazes. “Something was missing about him. I’m sure what I spoke to was merely a projection, but even then, I don’t know what the whole creature would look like.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked.

“It means that that thing is very dangerous. It could capture me easily. I may be cut off from Heaven, but I am still an angel. I have a strong feeling that I only escaped because it _let_ me.”

“We’ve tangled with him a few times now,” Sam said. “You’re saying he was letting us win?”

“Most likely.”

There was a dramatic silence, before Dean said, “Well, I’m glad you got away.”

Bobby wheeled into the room. “I need one of you to go on a beer run. And while you’re out, pick up a pizza or something. I ain’t cooking.”

“I’ll go,” Sam offered. “Need anything, Cas?”

He looked up, surprised. “Uh, no. I’m fine, Sam.”

“You’re staying the night, right?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

Castiel got the distinct feeling that any answer other than ‘yes’ would be promptly disregarded, plus it would be nice to spend the night recovering at Bobby’s. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Sammy, grab some cheap whiskey, too. I wanna see how well flyboy can hold his liquor.”

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbed the keys, and left.

Bobby grumbled, “You really wanna be taking care of a drunk angel?”

Dean smirked. “What’s the Apocalypse for?”

“Dean,” Castiel said suddenly. He had just remembered something the Trickster had said. “Who’s the Blair Witch?”

“Why the hell are you asking about that?” Dean asked curiously.

“The Trickster mentioned her. Have you hunted her?”

Dean burst out laughing. He turned away, then back to Castiel, pulling out his phone. He put it to his ear and Castiel heard Sam answer.

_“What, Dean?”_

“Pick up _The Blair Witch Project_ , too,” Dean told him. “We’re havin’ a movie night.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Cowards drown in lakes of Hellfire"— paraphrased from Revelations 21:8  
> _________
> 
> Special thanks to the wonderful [thecadenceandthecacophany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecadenceandthecacophony) for betaing this fic! I really appreciate all your help and encouragement!
> 
> The idea for this story has evolved since I came across [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me6i7iLKjX1qzm3yyo1_500.png).
> 
> Thank you to everyone who roleplayed that idea with me on Omegle. This story was inspired by all of you!


End file.
